“My father designed this house. It was not like this in his father’s time, but my father was not the eldest, and did not expect to inherit. He traveled widely in his youth. In Byzantium, he said, people built their homes to afford themselves privacy from their noisy relations, their children, and their servants. When Aelfleah became his he redesigned it to be like the houses he had seen in his travels.”
“I like it,” said Josselin de Combourg.
“Do not like it too much, my lord,” said Mairin mockingly. “It will never be yours.”
The knight chuckled, and thought how very different this Saxon girl was from the women of the Norman court. He was not himself a Norman. He was a Breton. His father was Raoul de Rohan, the Comte de Combourg. His mother, Eve, was the daughter of a wealthy cloth merchant. His father had been married for many years to a noblewoman who had given him two daughters but after her death he had seen Josselin’s mother and fallen in love with her.
The disparity in their social positions was considered too great to countenance a marriage. So despite the birth of his first son, Raoul de Rohan gave in to his family’s pleas and remarried a suitable wife, who, quickly producing their required heir, died in childbirth. The comte refused to remarry to suit his relations this time. He married his mistress, and moved her and Josselin back into his castle. It was Eve who raised both of her lord’s sons, but it was the younger, Guéthenoc, who was his father’s heir.
The Comte de Combourg loved both of his sons, but perhaps he loved Josselin a bit more. Still he knew that he could not continue to favor the elder over his legitimate heir. So following the custom of the times he sent Josselin at the age of eight to be raised in the house of another nobleman. Wanting him to have the best possible chance in life, he placed him at the Norman court of Duke William. There he knew his son would be safe from the usual taunts that dogged the heels of even the noble bastard-born. Duke William himself had been born of a union not blessed by the church.
He told his son that William’s father, upon seeing Herleve, his mother, washing her linen in a local stream beneath the castle walls, found out that she was the daughter of a wealthy tanner. He had courted her and she had borne a son even as Josselin’s own mother had borne him. Duke Robert had then traveled to the Holy Land on a pilgrimage, and died there. Before he had gone, however, he had made his liegemen swear fealty to his young son should he not return. William had inherited his dukedom. That was the part that Josselin didn’t understand.
“How can William, bastard-born even as I am, be Duke Robert’s heir, yet I cannot be yours, father?”
“Because his father had no other child, either son or daughter, who might inherit, Josselin. He had no wife.”
“But I was born before Guéthenoc, father. If you loved my mother then why did you marry the demoiselle Elisette, Guéthenoc’s mother? You are married to my mother now, and I am your eldest son. Should I not be your heir?”
“Had Duke Robert returned he would have probably given in to the pleadings of his family to get a legitimate heir even as I did, Josselin. Your mother, like Herleve, was not of equal birth with me. Since Guéthenoc was born healthy, and poor Elisette died, I decided to no longer be separated from Eve. I had an heir my family could accept, so I married to suit myself this time. It was blind luck that brought Duke William his domain but at his court there will be few who make mock of you for your birth, my son. You have no need to be ashamed. You are Josselin de Combourg, the much-loved son of Raoul de Rohan. I hope you will take pride in it.”
He had taken pride in his heritage, but he nonetheless strove harder than all the other little pages at the court of Duke William. So hard did he strive that his extra efforts brought him the attention of the young duke who was but nine years his senior. Fascinated by the serious little boy who worked so desperately to please, William sought his history. Learning of it he was strangely touched and took the child into his personal care. He understood the demons the boy faced because of his birth. He also knew that no matter how much his parents loved him it would not erase the stain of bastardy. Was not he, the ruler of one of the most powerful dukedoms in Europe, referred to as William the Bastard?
Josselin grew up under the guidance of the duke, whose favor did not deter the boy from continuing to exert himself in all of his duties. When he was fourteen William sent him to the court of Baldwin of Flanders on a very important mission. He was the duke’s gift to the lady Matilda, Baldwin’s daughter, whom William of Normandy had singled out to be his wife. There were innumerable difficulties involved in the marriage plans, not the least of which was the bride’s resistance.
Matilda announced quite loudly to one and all that she would not marry a bastard. The other courts of Europe tittered at the insult. The duke refused to accept her rude answer, and went to Flanders to woo her himself. It was said that he accosted her as she came from church, beating her publicly for her slander of his person. Duke Baldwin’s daughter suddenly found herself very impressed with his passion, his pride, and his sense of command. Intrigued by this bold man who had dared to lay rough hands upon her before her father and his court, she abruptly changed her mind and agreed to marry William.
The pope, however, forbade the marriage saying Matilda of Flanders must marry elsewhere. Now the lady would hear of no other for her husband but William of Normandy. She refused to even consider another match.
It was at that point young Josselin was sent to Flanders. He was now a big handsome boy of fourteen. His mission was to stay by the lady’s side as her page. To tell her all he could about Duke William. To keep her amused and to bolster her spirits when she became afraid or discouraged. To make certain that she would not change her mind again. Josselin did his job well for the petite blond Matilda became even more obdurate in her refusal to marry anyone but Duke William of Normandy.
Finally Baldwin of Flanders agreed to the match despite the pope’s objections. His strong-willed daughter was making his life a veritable hell. He had had enough. Let Normandy have her. The pope was far away, and would eventually relent. Matilda and William were married. It was an extremely happy and fruitful marriage. William adored his wife, and was never unfaithful to her. It was a rarity of behavior for a man of both his times, and his position.
In all of this Josselin de Combourg’s loyalty to his lord and his lady was not forgotten. He had gained the valued friendship of them both, and it was that which had brought him to Aelfleah. William knew that he might count upon Josselin de Combourg to keep the peace in this little corner of England, and to raise up a castle that would help to insure that peace.
Mairin led him back downstairs, showing him the buttery, the pantry, and the kitchens. He was extremely impressed by the covered portico that separated the main house from the kitchens, by the kitchen garden that lay to one side of it, and the herb garden that lay to the other side. The household well was in a corner by the kitchen and safe within the walls where it could not be poisoned by an enemy. It was a shame that he could not incorporate the manor house into the castle, but the castle would have to be located upon the crest of the hill where it could look down into Wales.
“How is it,” he asked Mairin as they returned to the hall, “that a Saxon girl speaks fluent and accentless Norman French?”
She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were a wonderful violet color. “I am not Saxon-born although I have been raised as one, my lord. My father was a Breton, my mother Irish. When I was orphaned Aldwine Athelsbeorn and his wife took me as their own child.”
“Then you are not really his daughter?”
“I was formally adopted by my Saxon father, and formally recognized as his heiress should there be no male heirs of his blood, my lord. King Edward did this for my father in return for a favor. That is why my father went to Constantinople several years ago as the head of the king’s trade delegation. It was the price the king requested in return for agreeing to my adoption. I am, according to Saxon law, the daughter of Aldwine Athelsbeor
n and his wife, Eada. My claim to Aelfleah is quite legitimate. I speak not only Norman French, but Breton, Latin, Greek, and of course English. I can read and I can write. I am knowledgeable in mathematics, logic, history, geography, and philosophy. My mother says an educated woman is anathema to a man, but both my father and my husband encouraged my learning.”
“You are married?” Josselin asked. Of course she was! She was far too beautiful not to be.
“I was,” she said quietly, and for a moment a shadow passed over her features. “My husband is dead.”
“Did he die like your brother and father fighting the Norwegians, or was he with Harold Godwinson at Hastings?” he queried her, seeking knowledge of this man who had loved her.
“Basil was a prince of Byzantium, my lord. He died in Constantinople at the hand of an assassin. The taking of his life was a needless waste for he was a good man.”
“Forgive me, Mairin Aldwinesdotter. I did not mean to cause you pain by bringing up unhappy memories.”
“Excepting his death, my lord, the memories I have of my husband are happy ones.”
“You had no children?”
“We had only been married a few months when he was struck down,” she answered. “That is why I returned home to England with my parents. There was nothing left for me in Constantinople once Basil was gone. Now you would take my home from me, but I am not some meek creature who will sit quietly by and let that happen, my lord.” Her look was a bold and defiant one.
Josselin couldn’t help but chuckle. He quickly saw that his reaction to her words annoyed her greatly. She was not a tiny woman like the Duchess Matilda, but neither was she big. She was rather of medium height, and fine-boned, which gave her a delicate look. Still he towered over her, being very long like his father, and having a medium frame. This lankiness coupled with a youthful face that belied his thirty years had been of great advantage to him in the past for it had given him the appearance of a half-grown youth which was why he had been so successful in his endeavors for William. Those who did not know him thought him a mere boy. They were therefore less careful in their speech. He was relieved that in the last few years his face had gained some maturity, but even now he thought that had he an older visage, Mairin would not be defying him.
In the weeks that followed Mairin could not fault Josselin’s courteous behavior. It did not, however, stop Mairin from reminding him at every turn that Aelfleah was hers. To Eada he was gentle and kind, which caused her to remark to her daughter, “It is fortunate you are not married to that good knight, Mairin. If you were he would beat you black and blue for your wicked tongue. I am not certain that I should not encourage him myself in such an undertaking.”
“I say nothing that is not truth, mother.”
“Nonetheless he is in a difficult position, and you are making it no easier for him.”
“I simply do not wish him to become too attached to Aelfleah since it will never be his,” was the proud reply.
“Be careful, Mairin, that you do not say something that you will one day regret,” Eada warned. Then she went about preparing the clothing that they would take to London when King William was crowned.
Josselin de Combourg had brought with him to Aelfleah an engineer. Master Gilleet of Rouen would oversee the actual building of the castle. It would be a costly endeavor and the bulk of the expense would be borne by Josselin de Combourg himself. Once the king confirmed his ownership of Aelfleah manor and its lands, Josselin would have the right to tax the inhabitants within his domain to help pay for the castle. But for now it was fortunate that the knight was a rich man.
His beautiful mother, Eve Drapier, had been her father’s only surviving child. It was expected that she would make a very good marriage, being her father’s heiress. Reluctant to lose his child to another man, her indulgent father delayed his choice of a son-in-law. It was then the Comte de Combourg had seen her, and fallen desperately in love with her, an emotion that Eve Drapier reciprocated with equal passion.
After that there had been no more talk of marriage, for Eve’s father had been wise enough to understand his daughter’s heart. Besides, her new status reflected upon him. It was no crime that the beauteous Eve was the comte’s mistress, and the mother of his eldest, albeit illegitimate son. When the cloth merchant had died he had left all of his wealth to his only grandson, knowing that to advance himself in life the boy would need gold to help him overcome the slight stigma of his noble illegitimacy.
Since only a rich man could afford to bear the expense of building a king’s castle, the man who held such a castle commanded great power. Particularly if like Josselin de Combourg his loyalty was total and unquestioned. That he had been chosen for this task was a great honor for the king had friends of unquestioned birth in greater families who were themselves great noblemen. Josselin de Combourg was but a simple knight in rank. Few, however, were jealous of the young Breton for he had always been careful not to make enemies. He was considered, despite his birth, a part of the king’s inner circle.
The king, too, had been careful. The castle to be raised would not be large, nor was a town to be built with it. It would be little more than a border keep. There would be no jealousy among the king’s friends over this gift. Possibly in the future Josselin might find himself ennobled should he again render valuable service to his liege. For now, however, he remained a simple knight whose task was to build a castle.
It was much too late in the year to begin the actual construction of the castle. The site would be chosen, and the buildings raised to house the workers who would be coming to Aelfleah in the springtime. Josselin asked Mairin to ride with him and Master Gilleet that he might familiarize himself with the land, and decide upon the right location.
“Why must you build at Aelfleah?” demanded Mairin irritably. “The Welsh have never bothered us.”
“You cannot count upon the fact that in the past you have escaped their detection, my lady Mairin. The king is asking that castles be raised in several spots along the border.”
“You will draw them right to us,” Mairin grumbled. “Logic dictates that the castle be placed upon the heights. There it will sit like a wart upon a nose. A beacon drawing every Welsh outlaw and raider right to Aelfleah! Why do you think this manor is so prosperous? It is because few know we are here.”
“I cannot put the castle in the valley,” he said.
“I am aware of that!” she snapped at him. “I wish you didn’t have to put a castle anywhere upon my lands.”
“Lady, given the choice, I should far rather be a lover than a warrior,” he teased her.
The engineer accompanying them chuckled.
“I have seen evidence of neither a lover nor a warrior, my lord,” she snipped, and he burst out laughing.
“Which skill do you prefer I demonstrate first?” he chortled as she blushed fiery red.
“Ohh, you are insufferable!” she fumed, kicking her horse into a canter to escape his laughter. She was uncomfortably aware of his masculinity. Admittedly he was an attractive man although he had not the elegant beauty of Basil, nor the handsome prettiness of Eric Longsword. Rather Josselin de Combourg’s face gave the impression of severity. Still when he smiled the precise features softened.
He had a long yet roundish face that matched his long body. His tawny dark blond hair was cropped short close to his head, and cut in a bang that only partly covered his wide, high forehead. His nose was big, the nostrils flaring just slightly at the base above the full lips that ran practically the width of his squared and sharply sculpted jaw. His eyes glinted a green-gold from beneath thick brows and heavy eyelids giving the mistaken impression that he was contemplating sleep when he was, in fact, always alert. He was, she decided, a dangerous man.
Catching up with her he apologized. “I should not tease you, my lady, not when our situation is so confusing. Yet I find I enjoy it. I cannot believe you have not been teased before by a man who was as totally enchanted by your beauty as I am
. Can we not be friends? I do not believe us enemies.”
“I am not certain what we should be to each other, my lord,” she said, turning to look directly at him. “My experience has been somewhat limited where men are concerned. I was half-child, half-woman when I arrived in Byzantium and attracted the attention of my husband. I had never had a suitor until Basil. The only men I have ever known well have been relatives or Dagda, who is like my family to me. I have always been sheltered by the men in my life. My Breton father oversaw the years of my early childhood. When he died, Dagda, who had been my mother’s servant, looked after me. Then came my adoptive father, and my husband. Now once again Dagda sees to my safety.
“In Constantinople Basil did not allow me to be part of the court for he considered it corrupt, and felt it would spoil me. I have lived all my life surrounded by those who would shelter me from a world I have never had the opportunity to really know. The only thing I am able to judge you by, my lord, is your motives, which seem to be to take my lands from me. Without my lands I am worthless. Even a serf has more value than a landless noblewoman. Each of us claims Aelfleah. Should this not make us enemies, my lord?”
“No, no,” he protested, realizing suddenly the one thing he did not want was her enmity. “The king is fair, and he is just, my lady. When he learns of your existence, and of your status as your father’s heiress, he will surely compensate you for Aelfleah. You will not be worthless!”
“My lord, I do not wish to be compensated for the loss of my home. I wish to keep it,” she answered him. Though her words were serious her voice was gentle. Then she laughed, almost ruefully. “You and I shall not settle this matter between us, my lord. Neither of us wishes to give up what we rightfully consider ours. Let the king who has unwittingly placed us both in this quandary settle the matter.”
“And if he gives Aelfleah to me?” he inquired mischievously.
“He won’t,” she said with infuriating certainty.
Enchantress Mine Page 22